


merry and bright

by dicaeopolis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (it's the Christmas Eve before canon), Cunnilingus, Gen, M/M, The Annual Amicitia Holiday Party, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, drinking happens, nyx ulric spiked the eggnog i saw him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dicaeopolis
Summary: Prompto stays over the Amicitias' on Christmas Eve.





	merry and bright

**Author's Note:**

> ffxv fandom I love you and all your angst dearly but sometimes we just need promptio fingerblasting each other in Gladio's childhood bedroom.
> 
> THIS WAS ORIGINALLY A CHRISTMAS EVE FIC. and then I didn't finish it so it was gonna be a New Year's Eve fic. and then I didn't finish it for that either! So now it's just late
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dickaeopolis/status/1083892820702883846) and [tumblr](http://dicaeopolis.tumblr.com/post/181937632147)!

The Marshall’s there, which is the funny part, cause that means that the Marshall’s trying to talk to Prompto. Ever since Prompto started hanging out with Noct, and by extension Gladio and Ignis, whenever Cor encounters the kid, he tries to make some god-awful small-talk. Probably cause the guy was always too busy with wartime to have his own kids. And Prompto brings out folks’ protective instincts. Gladio would know.

“And how are your studies holding up, young man?” says Cor, with a face like a thunderhead. He’s in one of the overstuffed armchairs in the living room, but he’s still sitting ramrod-straight.

“Good,” squeaks Prompto, who hasn’t been in school for a year and a half. Over Cor’s shoulder, he shoots Gladio a  _ help me _ look.

Gladio grins at him and gives him a thumbs up. Prompto can’t flip him off with the Marshall right there, so Gladio happily abandons him to his fate. Maybe they’ll get onto the topic of outfitting the Crownsguard with some real machinery, which is pretty much the only common interest between the two. (Cor has gotten it into his head somehow that their arms need to be modernized. King Regis, whose weapons appear out of the same thin air they have for the past two thousand years, seems kinda nonplussed about it all.)

The Citadel’s Christmas Eve party is always at the Amicitias’. Most of the higher-ups in the Crownsguard are there, and some of the Kingsglaive. (Gladio’s been watching, and Glaive Ulric has already spiked the punch and most of the bottles of eggnog.) The king and Gladio’s dad are making the rounds, and Gladio circulates too, saying hi to his buddies in the Guard.

He’s feeling some kinda content. He’d helped Iris put up holly garlands or some shit like that this morning, broke out their mother’s old red-and-green tablecloths, tried to put up mistletoe before Dad fixed him with one of his  _ you-know-your-actions-have-political-consequences _ looks. He’s coming up on five years since he got sworn into the Crownsguard, and - sure, Niflheim’s always looming, but Gladio’s taking politics one day a time, these days. It’s not a half bad way to finish out the year.

Noct is notably missing. But Gladio knows him too well to really lose track of him.

Sure enough, he opens the door to the basement to the familiar sound of the Crown Prince cussing his head off. Iris is giggling, and her friend Prima from karate class is high-fiving her as Ignis goes searching for the ping-pong ball.

“That’s twenty-one!” Iris trills. Gladio grins, leaning on the banister near the top of the stairs to watch.

“Rematch,” Noct demands.

“Sure,” says Gladio. Noct startles as Gladio slides under the banister and drops the rest of the way to the floor. “Mind if I tap in, Prima?”

She grins, tosses him her paddle. “Go for it.”

“Yeah, Gladdy!” cheers Iris. “Let’s show ‘em what Shields are made of!”

“Alright, get off me, you’re being embarrassing,” Gladio tells her as he detaches her from his arm. “But you’re not wrong.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ignis says mildly. There’s dust bunnies in his hair from digging out the ball.

“Yeah, it’s  _ on,” _ Noct growls, and serves without warning. Iris has an eagle eye, though, and the ball goes zipping back past Noct’s shoulder again before Gladio can even move.

Noct squawks with indignance. Ignis graciously conceals his smirk, but Gladio doesn’t hesitate to tip back his head and roar with laughter.

(They win, as if there were any doubt about it.)

Prompto patters downstairs too, after about half an hour. He looks like he’s just survived a spiracorn attack. “Traitor,” he accuses Gladio.

Gladio grins, ruffles his hair. “It’s good for ya.”

*

When they head back upstairs, folks are drifting away in twos and threes. Glaive Ulric has secured not one, but two Crownsguard for the night. Glaive Altius is talking up some woman from the Citadel next to the impromptu bar. Ignis snags a couple half-empty bottles of wine and suggests a game of rummy in the den, like the old man he’s been since he was four.

That’s when the evening starts really melting together for Gladio. Warmth and candlelight and Vince Guaraldi on the speakers and his friends’ laughter as he and Prompto share the sofa, that kind of shit. He’d been drinking already, but Gladio never held up to wine that well. Beer is his drink of choice, sometimes whiskey, and also fruity little concoctions with rum and gin and tiny umbrellas, because he is not insecure about his masculinity and they taste  _ good. _ Wine, though, means silly. Wine means actually laughing at Iggy’s awful puns, much as he’ll deny it later. Wine means slinging his arm around Prompto’s shoulders and snickering into the shoulder of his one good button-down. Wine doesn’t necessarily mean the reason he loses at rummy every time, but he’s glad to saddle it with the blame.

(Once, he'd seen Glaive Altius take the wine bag out of a box of Franzia and chug it like water while Glaive Ostium hooted in the background.  _ That _ was scary.)

Gladio walks Ignis and Noct to the door around eleven. They always leave together, and it’s not without reason - Noct shouldn't be heading home unguarded anyway, Ignis is highly capable in battle, his apartment isn't far from Noct's. But Gladio pauses by the front window as the pair of them head down the front walk, snowflakes sparkling in Noct's hair and settling on the shoulders of Ignis’ peacoat and whirling in the circles of soft golden light from the streetlamps. And just as they turn onto the sidewalk, Noct hooks his arm through Ignis’ and rests his head on the shoulder of the peacoat, briefly. And then they're gone into the winter night.

That's something to talk about later. They've got plenty of time.

Gladio turns away from the window, linking his arms over his head to stretch. The place is mostly empty by now - though a few voices are low and muffled in the other room, the king and the marshall and Gladio's dad, which probably makes the Amicitia household one of the safest places in Lucis right now. Iris and Prima are curled up next to the fire with their feet tucked under them, heads bent over a puzzle.

Just then, Prompto comes pattering out of the kitchen and pauses halfway through a step. His eyes flick to Iris, then to Gladio, then around the otherwise-empty living room. “Ah - I was just, uh, cleaning up a bit-”

“You're staying over, yeah?” Gladio supplies.

Relief flashes through Prompto's eyes. “You know it! Ready to hit the hay, big guy?”

“Sure am,” Gladio agrees.

“G’night, Prompto! G’night, Gladdy!” Iris chirps, lifting her head from the puzzle, and he ruffles her hair in response as he heads for the stairs.

(Prompto stays over a lot. Here, Noct's. They don't talk about why.)

They brush their teeth side by side, Gladio in nothing but his flannel pajama pants, Prompto in a pair of Justice Monsters Five boxers and his white undershirt. Gladio finishes first, and amiably slaps Prompto’s ass before wandering back to his room and flopping down on his bed.

When Prompto gets back, closing the door against the hallway light, Gladio scoots over to make room. Prompto used to crash on the floor - Gladio has a sleeping bag, after all, and Prompto always mumbled something delighted about the smell of campfire and Gladio when he shimmied down into it. But after one particularly chilly night, Gladio woke up with Prompto curled up in the crook of his arm, shock of blond hair resting against the rise and fall of Gladio’s chest. And after that, Gladio decided to pull Prompto into his bed at night before there was even a question about it.

At any rate, it’s not hard to share a twin bed when the other person is skinny, and short, and so hungry for touch and warmth that it probably won't take more than a couple minutes for - yup, there it is, Prompto draping his whole body over Gladio's. Gladio lifts a hand to his lower back to support him on instinct, and then leaves it there, firm and reassuring. He can see the excited white of Prompto's grin through the dark as he whispers, “hey, wanna make out?”

“Yeah,” Gladio rumbles back, his own lips curving up in response. Prompto's smile flashes wider, and then there's eager lips against Gladio's, Prompto's left hand pressed to the pillow next to his head for support. The voices of the grown-ups drift up muffled through the floorboards. Well, the  _ grown-up _ grown-ups. Gladio still hasn't fully gotten it through his head that, at the ripe old age of twenty-three, he's a grown-up too now.

He kisses Prompto back, open-mouthed and unhurried.

The kissing is kind of new. After Prompto figured out that he's allowed to touch Gladio without getting his entire arm bitten off, he never really stopped. Hangs off Gladio's arm when he wants to point something out, ducks behind him snickering with mischief when Ignis is on the warpath about something or another, slings an arm around his waist when they're walking together. That last one is nothing romantic, just Prompto’s general inability to  _ reach _ Gladio’s shoulders to hug them. Doesn’t stop Gladio from teasing the shit outta him about it.

But then, a month or so ago, Prompto had been rambling to him about birds or something, and Gladio had lit upon an effective way to quiet him down. Prompto went kinda still, and Gladio was a little worried, for a moment, that he’d read the signals wrong.

Then Prompto jumped into Gladio’s arms and stuck his tongue down his throat, and Gladio stopped worrying.

Gladio doesn't think about it too much, anyways, cause kissing Prompto is  _ fun. _ It’s easy to tease him and work him up, easy to let him smatter Gladio's nose and cheeks and forehead with little pecks, easy to tweak his side when he's getting cocky to make him squeak and squirm up against him.

Prompto breaks away, licks his lips. He lowers himself down onto his forearm, catches a hnfistful of Gladio's hair where it's spread across the pillow and tugs gently. Gladio, obliging, tilts his head back to bare his neck, eyelids half-lidded. Prompto pauses, and in the light through the blinds - soft and golden from the streetlamps, slatting across Prompto's cheekbones - Gladio can see him bite his lip.

“Like what you see?” Gladio murmurs, low smile curling through his words.

_ “Yeah,” _ says Prompto, in a breathy voice that's really flattering.

He bends down and noses up underneath the underside of Gladio's jaw. One fluttery sigh that sends goosebumps racing down Gladio's shoulderblades, and then Prompto drops kisses down his neck to his collarbone, nose brushing against the inside of the hollow there. Once he's down far enough for a shirt to cover - considerate; Gladio appreciates it - Gladio feels a nibble, then lips wrapping around a patch of skin and sucking, hard. It hurts a bit but mostly just feels  _ good, _ the kind of good that bumps Gladio's hips up against Prompto’s warmth where their legs are tangled together.

They've mostly just kissed. Gladio doesn’t think about that too much, either. Prompto isn’t the shitty kid Gladio used to think of him as, but he’s also nervous as a whole flock of chocobos. The last thing Gladio wants is to scare him off.

Tonight, though, with the wine warm in his veins, and the snow swirling outside his bedroom window, and  _ Prompto’s teeth leaving a sizeable hickey on his collarbone, by the Astrals.  _ “Easy there,” Gladio tells him, voice a little rough. “I live with my dad, y’know.”

For someone with a lot of similarities to a teddy bear, Gladio looks terrifying. He knows this, and doesn't usually mind it, but it's nice, to see people realize that he's fairly laid-back when it isn't about protecting the prince.

The downside is that Prompto, having figured this out, has gotten entirely too cocky. Like, for example, glancing up at Gladio through his blonde tousle of bangs with a shit-eating smirk and saying, “oh, no, maybe you’ll even have to wear a shirt for once.”

“Alright, you're just asking for it now.”

Prompto opens his mouth, presumably to ask what that  _ means, _ and then interrupts himself with a startled  _ oof _ as Gladio flips him over like a rowdy puppy. Gladio laughs aloud, rolling on top of him to pin him under his bulk. Prompto splutters and struggles a little, but when it comes to wrestling Gladio, he doesn't stand a chance.

_ “Gladio,” _ he complains instead, wriggling fruitlessly.

Gladio snickers, leaning down over Prompto's back to murmur against his ear, “yeah?”

Prompto shudders under him, going quiet. And Gladio, well - he pushes the advantage. He licks a long stripe down Prompto's neck, and Prompto kind of whimpers, body rippling underneath him. Gladio plants a hand between his angel bones to keep him still and  _ bites, _ sucking hard. Prompto curses, fumbles for a pillow to muffle his cry.

Gladio grins and sucks harder. Prompto's squirming in earnest now, and it's nice, feeling him so close. He releases Prompto's shoulder, kisses the mark. “Hmm…”

“Yeah?” Prompto says, removing his face from Gladio's pillow.

“I like how that looks,” Gladio concludes. He tugs down the back of Prompto's t-shirt, baring the bumps of his vertebrae, and sets about leaving another one.

“Wait, that's-” Gladio moves away, and Prompto sucks in a breath. “Fuck, that's twenty kinds of amazing, but the hem's, uh, choking me in the front-”

Gladio grins into the darkness. “Wanna lose the shirt, then?”

“Holy shit,” says Prompto.

“Yeah?”

“Only if you, uh, rip it off me, big guy.”

Gladio barks out a genuine laugh. “That line work on all the guys?”

He can't really see enough to tell, but by the Astrals, Gladio knows what Prompto's voice sounds like when he's blushing. “Shut up, please just forget I-”

“Nah, I can arrange it.” Gladio's hands slide up Prompto's sides, rucking up his t-shirt and baring his lower back. He shifts down to drop a kiss at the small of his back, soft and easy, and then follows the shirt with kisses all the way up, til Prompto's helping shuck it off over his head.

Gladio pauses, smooths his palm up Prompto’s bare skin. His fingers skim over freckles. Prompto quivers.

“Mind if I mark you up?” Gladio asks.

“Please,” says Prompto, sounding kind of raw.

Gladio marks him up.

Prompto’s pale, bruises easy. Gladio nibbles and sucks at his shoulders, grips his hipbones to hold him still and bites down on his collarbone, leaves a whole fuckin’ bouquet of red on his neck. Prompto’s pants grow louder and his squirms more involuntary, and when Gladio flips him over and murmurs “can I touch you?”, Prompto inhales sharply and jerks a nod.

“Are we doing this?” he breathes as Gladio’s fingers trace the hem of his binder and then slide down his stomach.

“Only as much as you wanna,” Gladio tells him. He pauses, one knee between Prompto’s thighs, waiting.

“I - I wanna do a lot with you,” Prompto says, voice cracking like the half-pubescent boy he kind of biologically is right now.

“Yeah?” Gladio smirks down at him, licks his lips slow and deliberate.

_ “Yeah,”  _ says Prompto, kind of strangled. “C’mon, big guy, you’re just teasing me now.”

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees, and before Prompto can protest that, he shoves his hand down the front of Prompto’s boxers.

Prompto lets out a sharp little gasp that’s somehow hotter than any moan Gladio could’ve managed to get out of him. He’s - he’s  _ wet, _ dang. Gladio says as much. Prompto grumbles vaguely, something along the lines of “s’your  _ fault,” _ and Gladio snickers.

“Bet I can make you wetter.”

“You have got,” says Prompto, half-whine, “to stop making such ridiculous lines sound so -  _ ah-” _

“So?” prompts Gladio. His index finger circles idly around Prompto’s clit.

“So-” Gladio traces down his slit, and Prompto stutters out a garbled noise. “S’-fuckin-” His fingers find their way into Gladio’s hair, not yanking, just resting there as Gladio slides between his folds and spreads his wetness up and down.  _ “Astrals-” _

“Nah, just me,” says Gladio.

Prompto groans, head thudding down onto Gladio’s pillow. Could be because of the line, could be cause Gladio’s pulled down his boxers all the way and is settling in between his sprawled thighs, bending down to nuzzle at his soft golden curls. “A-are you -  _ oh _ \- oh, that’s -  _ haah, _ man, you’re, you’re gonna-”

Gladio hums happily, leaving Prompto to his babbling as he licks at his cunt. When his lips wrap around Prompto’s clit and suck hard, Prompto cries out softly, and his words slur into gasps and muted curses as Gladio works him over.

By the Six, he really is small. Not like a kid, but like, in the way where Gladio could probably fuck him against the wall til he’s scrambling for purchase. Or hold him in his lap to finger him, with his feet dangling helplessly out to either side. Or maybe - Gladio slides his hand up the underside of Prompto’s thigh, fingers wrapping most of the way around without even straining.

Prompto makes a breathless, questioning noise, but lifts for Gladio to pull his thighs apart, spreading him bare and totally vulnerable, which, excellent. Gladio licks up his cunt and then sucks on his clit in a fast, forceful rhythm.

Prompto moans outright - his thighs flex fruitlessly in Gladio’s grip, and Gladio concentrates, working his tonguetip over Prompto’s clit. A few minutes, and then he’s shuddering apart with a broken moan, clit pulsing in Gladio’s unrelenting mouth. And then pawing weakly at Gladio’s hair. And then garbling out a half-laughed “okay,  _ okay, _ big guy, enough.”

Gladio raises his head, supremely satisfied with himself. Prompto looks dazed, loopy smile spilling over his lips.

_ Not bad, Amicitia. _

Prompto takes a few minutes to recover, and of course he’s just as cuddly as ever while he does it. He snuggles up to Gladio before Gladio can even really move from between his legs, latching onto his torso and pulling him up towards the headboard and down towards the rumpled bedsheets. Gladio nobly restrains himself from teasing him about any of that, and just lets Prompto nuzzle against his chest while he subtly wipes his lips on Prompto’s hair. But when Prompto slings his leg over Gladio’s thigh, Gladio can’t help but huff a laugh at what he feels.

“What’s funny, big guy?” Prompto mumbles against Gladio’s pec.

Gladio shifts to grab at Prompto’s ass, and then slides his hand lower, swirling his fingers briefly through the mess between his thighs. Prompto shivers against him as Gladio says, “Told ya I’d get you wetter.”

“Well, now,” Prompto says. He disentangles himself from Gladio and props himself up on his elbow, smile in his voice. “That sounds like the start of a competition to me.”

Gladio raises an eyebrow, folding his arms behind his head. “You ever touch someone else before?”

“Nah,” says Prompto, trying and failing to sound casual about it as he pulls his boxers back on. “But I got this.”

“You’re sure you wanna?”

Gladio sure isn’t opposed to getting off tonight, but he’s also got some vague notion that virginity should be lost to one’s true love, or at least the person you think is your true love when you’re seventeen, and there should be, like, candles and rose petals and shit. Even though  _ his _ first time having sex was in the basement of the hotel during their class trip his second year of high school. It’s the principle of the thing.

“I guess I, uh.” Prompto ducks his head, offering half a sheepish smile. “Never liked anyone enough to go for it before?”

Well, that’s just flattering. Gladio ruffles his hair and shifts to shuck off his pajama pants. “Like you too, chocobutt.”

“Such a romantic,” Prompto sighs, sounding entirely alright with it.

“Yeah, just get your fingers on me.”

It’s clear quite quickly that Prompto has never touched a cunt that isn’t his own. Fortunately, Gladio’s never shied away from ordering the guy around on the training floor, and he doesn't intend to stop now. He grunts, catches hold of Prompto's wrist to put a little more finesse into the caresses of his fingers. “Hey - mm, lower-”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good. Y’can - mm, play around a bit there, y’know-”

Prompto’s figuring out the mechanics of the clit quickly. Fast learner, always was. Gladio catches hold of his hand to guide him for a moment, moving the pads of Prompto’s fingers against him just how he likes it, and then lets him take over, lying back and letting the heat swell up in his veins. Prompto’s exploring, curious and deft like he always is - his fingertips slide and circle between Gladio’s folds, pausing to caress his clit and then slide down. When he dips his index finger into the fluid pooling at Gladio’s entrance and then hesitates, Gladio catches hold of his shoulder briefly to murmur, “hey, wanna fingerfuck me?”

“You’re - okay with that?” Prompto sounds dubious.

“Yeah.” Gladio flashes him a smile. “All kinds’a dysphoria out there, chocobutt.”

“Don’t call me  _ chocobutt  _ when I’m  _ fingering  _ you,” Prompto protests.

“You’re not fingerin’ me yet,” Gladio points out. “What’s the holdup?”

He lets out a pleased noise as Prompto slides his first two fingers into him, legs falling open wider. When Prompto’s knuckles hit his lips, he sighs out pleasure, delighting in the pressure and spread.

“Oh,” Prompto breathes.

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees.

Okay, now Prompto is taking it slow. Too slow. “I'm not gonna break,” Gladio tells him. “Go on, put some force into it. You got biceps, use ‘em.”

“What are you, my coach?” Prompto huffs.

Gladio opens his mouth to retort, but then, all of a sudden, Prompto  _ gets it. _ Instead, his back arches up with a sharp moan.

“Oh,” Prompto says faintly.

“Haah,” says Gladio. And “mm”, and “ah”, and “fuck”, cause Prompto’s suddenly figured out the right angle to fuck into him  _ hard, _ hard enough to set Gladio's bed frame shaking slightly with the force. Gladio’s eyelids flutter, and he groans,  _ “Astrals.” _

“Nah, just me,” says Prompto, smug as a fuckin’ cat.

Gladio briefly considers putting him in a headlock while Prompto’s fingers are inside him. It’s not worth it, barely. He throws his arm over his eyes instead, letting out muddled curses as Prompto fucks him faster and harder. “Hey, curl your fingers up,” Gladio manages. When Prompto starts hitting his sweet spot, he moans again, and Prompto makes a kind of strangled noise. “Astrals, yeah,  _ right  _ there-”

Then Prompto has the bright idea to start rubbing at Gladio’s clit with his free hand, and that’s it. Gladio's hand shoots up to wrap around the back of Prompto's neck, pulling him down into a hard, sloppy kiss. When he releases him, Prompto looks like he's seeing the stars for the first time, and Gladio growls,  _ “Don’t stop.” _

He doesn’t.

In fact, he speeds up, and Gladio’s gone, shuddering and pulsing around his fingers. Prompto keeps going, fingers curling and thrusting and rubbing, drawing it out until Gladio is mumbling a garbled protest and swatting Prompto’s hands away from his crotch. His hips spasm up, involuntary.

“Oh - you okay?” Prompto asks, in that easy-now-it’s-all-gonna-be-okay voice he uses when he’s worried about something.

“Yeah, yeah, just - sensitive right afterwards, damn.”

Prompto ducks his chin, eyes sparkling through the swish of his bangs. “Yeah?”

_ “Yeah,” _ says Gladio, and hauls Prompto up onto his chest to kiss him hard.

All in all, a  _ damn _ good orgasm.

He releases Prompto to mumble, “your turn,” and flips him over onto his back. Prompto squeaks in surprise.

“What, again?”

“You’ve watched too much porn, haven’t you,” Gladio mutters.

He takes a moment to appreciate the view. Prompto’s sprawled out, flushed with pleasure and mussed from his last orgasm and still looking cocky about getting Gladio off. It’s stopped snowing outside, and the light of the streetlamps is pretty as anything across his stomach and thighs. The hickeys all over his neck and shoulders don’t hurt, either.

One day, Gladio’s gonna make him beg.

For now, he doesn’t waste any time. He bites down on the crook of Prompto’s neck and grips his cunt, not even bothering to take off his boxers. Prompto’s basically soaked through them already, anyways. Gladio spreads his lips through the fabric and presses in hard against his folds, fingers rubbing quick and forceful against him.

“Oh, Astrals,” Prompto moans, rolling his hips up against Gladio’s hand. “Oh, man. Oh, that’s - holy-”

“Quit  _ squirmin’,” _ says Gladio, and pins him down with a firm grasp on his hips. He bites his neck again, too, holding him in place like a troublesome cub. Prompto cries out, body twisting and curling up fruitlessly against Gladio’s broad chest. Something about being held down with Gladio’s thumb on his clit seems to really do it for him, cause it’s not long at all til he kind of sobs into Gladio’s pecs and comes again.

Gladio massages him through it, kissing slowly at his neck and the underside of his jaw, and then stills his fingers. When he draws back, Prompto looks like he’s been hit by a truck.

“Hey.” Gladio wipes his fingers clean on the blanket and then flicks Prompto’s nose. “You good?”

Prompto blinks and gives him that lopsided, impish grin that nobody can ever help returning. “M’ great. Even better if you got up here to cuddle, though.”

And, well, Gladio wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Hey,” he mumbles against Prompto’s neck, once they’ve shifted and settled and Prompto is curled up in the crook of Gladio’s body, with Gladio’s arm snug around his waist.

“Yeah?”

Gladio kisses a hickey. “Merry Christmas.”

“What - fuck, we missed midnight?!” Prompto attempts to twist around in Gladio’s arms, but Gladio just holds him tighter, unwilling to give up the warmth. “Seriously?”

“Stop squirming, s’alright.” Gladio slings his leg over Prompto’s thigh, effectively pinning him down. “I’ll bet ya ten gil Ignis and his highness did the same thing.”

Prompto snorts. “What, orgasms and all?”

“Yeah.”

“…Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“That,” says Prompto, “is something to talk about later.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Gladio agrees. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

“We really do,” Prompto says, couple of stars in his voice. “Gosh - you ever think about it like that? Like, sure, Noct’s gonna be king someday, but we’ve gotta have, like,  _ decades  _ til then, right? Twenty more Amicitia holiday parties, you ever think about that? And, like, I might make a functioning human being out of myself by then, you might have  _ kids, _ hell,  _ Iris _ might have kids…”

Gladio lets him ramble, drifting in and out of wakefulness, til Prompto’s pauses between words grow longer. He lets out a couple enormous yawns and then falls silent, and they doze off like that, wrapped together, with the snow falling soft and silent outside.


End file.
